


Nesting

by thetimesinbetween



Category: Glee
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Gen, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetimesinbetween/pseuds/thetimesinbetween
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a thank you fic for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/gigi42/pseuds/gigi42">Gigi</a>, who prompted: <em>some general fluff/sweet loving with the boys waking up in the loft together after Blaine moves in?</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Nesting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gigi42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigi42/gifts).



Blaine finally moves in officially halfway through the summer, on a sticky Tuesday morning in July. He’d set a date with Kurt (and Rachel and Santana), rented a U-Haul, packed up his room along with the new college things his mom got for him…and then at the last minute, there were his parents—both of them—insisting that the nine hour drive from Lima to New York was much too long for Blaine to drive alone, that of course they would drive Blaine to the city, that they were excited to see the place, to help settle Blaine in. 

Blaine couldn’t imagine any way to make him feel less settled, but he could hardly tell them that. He told Kurt instead, that same night during one of their soon-to-be-obsolete Skype dates. 

Kurt didn’t envy Blaine the cramped hours with only his parents and the radio for company—he knew that this will have been the most consecutive time that the three of them have spent all together for months if not years. He expects constant texts from Blaine during the drive, pleas for company and relief, so he puts his cell in his back pocket after he gets home from his morning shift, keeps it there as he patters around the loft, sweeping and dusting and changing his sheets. But his fiancé is unusually quiet. Every few hours, there’s a check-in text, or a picture of an anonymous stretch of grey road with a caption like Closer :).

The Andersons stop late that night at a hotel an hour outside the city. When Blaine sends him his goodnight text, Kurt is already in bed, wrapped in his cool, clean sheets, tired and fuzzy around the edges. The text makes something in his belly buzz with energy, even as he smiles and closes his eyes for the night. Blaine is so close now. Their whole life stretches out before him. Kurt drifts off clutching his phone to his chest. 

In the morning, Mr. Anderson has decided to try to beat rush hour rather than waiting for it to die down—the parents do have an afternoon plane to catch, after all, as Blaine’s dad keeps reminding him—so it’s in the deep pink and orange light of daybreak that they finally arrive in Bushwick. Blaine’s mother makes some quiet comment about the state of the neighborhood—they’d passed a fair number of people sleeping on sidewalks and front stoops on the way in, nothing unusual for a warm morning in New York City; Blaine’s father answers her, a little louder, certainly loud enough that Blaine knows he’s expected to join in this conversation. 

Blaine feels oddly disconnected from the entire affair. He’s within his parents’ domain still, just barely. The gritty windows of the U-Haul are the only separation now between Blaine and the morning blooming to life outside. 

They miraculously find a parking spot close by and pull up to the curb. Blaine’s mother makes another quiet, concerned comment about the dilapidated sidewalks. Blaine presses ‘send’ a text saying I’m here, and slips quietly out of the U-Haul. 

He half expects his parents to follow him out, but they don’t. He breathes in—it smells like city. Not terrible, exactly—just now, it’s car exhaust and warm asphalt. Other places, it’ll be sewer fumes, or coffee making, or baking bread, or laundry detergent. He breathes again, smiles at the color that the brick of Kurt’s building has turned under the pink morning light. 

Just then, Blaine’s phone buzzes—he gets a glance at Kurt’s message, !!!!!!—just as the lowest door to Kurt’s building swings open, and out runs Kurt, smiling Kurt, smiling Kurt coming toward him in jeans and a tank top with wet hair in the loveliest newest sweetest light; Blaine’s breath leaves him entirely as he’s engulfed in Kurt’s arms and held tight. They rock back and forth for a moment; Blaine buries his face in Kurt’s throat. Kurt sighs shakily, pressing his hand against the back of Blaine’s head, holding him there. 

“You’re really here,” he whispers. 

“I really am,” Blaine says against his skin. He feels Kurt’s heart pick up and smiles. 

He draws back as little as possible and tilts his face up for a kiss, which Kurt grants. 

“I love you,” he tells Kurt, their lips still brushing together.

Kurt’s eyes crinkle up so much when he’s happy. Blaine likes that they share that. “I love you too,” he says. Another kiss. “I also love this life we’re having together. Let’s get going on that, huh?” He nudges Blaine around to face the U-Haul, Blaine’s parents watching them from inside. Blaine’s mother waves faintly through the grey windshield. Blaine waves back. 

Blaine squeezes Kurt’s hand and lets out one big sigh. 

“Let’s do it,” he says. 

It turns out that Mr. and Mrs. Anderson are only staying long enough to help move all the boxes inside and grab a quick brunch at the bodega two blocks down. Kurt also gives them a quick tour of the loft, hoping that the moveable nature of the curtains that block off space mean that they’ll assume Blaine will have his own room, which he clearly does not at the moment. Kurt is just glad that Rachel and Santana cleared out to Dani’s for the night when they realized Blaine would be arriving no later than six in the morning—the last thing Blaine’s parents need to see is Santana wandering out topless and making herself “Mexican hot chocolate” (which is just hot chocolate spiked with whatever in the loft has the highest alcohol content) for breakfast. 

After brunch, Blaine’s parents don’t help unpack or even rest in the loft for a few minutes. They each hug Blaine goodbye right there on the sidewalk. Then they’re off to return the truck and get to the airport in what Mrs. Anderson calls “well enough time” with a pointed look at her watch. 

Kurt and Blaine watch and wave until they turn the corner, then head back upstairs to unpack. (Blaine lets them through the door this time, with his shiny new key.) 

They unpack for literally hours—Kurt’s been warning Blaine that he’d rather do all the unboxing right away, on a day that Kurt has taken off work and there aren’t a bunch of other people in the apartment getting underfoot. Blaine had agreed that it made sense, and he still agrees, but by the time they break for peanut butter and honey sandwiches in the afternoon, his arms and back are aching. 

They sit and eat, mostly quiet, their feet tangled together under the table. There’s something oddly intimate about having your socked feet between somebody else’s socked feet, Blaine thinks. There’s an underlying eroticism, too, he acknowledges when Kurt’s toes rub along the sensitive arch of his foot—such a little-touched part of his body…. He suddenly feels a little touch-hungry, but puts it aside for the moment, watching Kurt’s sweaty hair flop adorably over his forehead. They’ve just agreed that they have a couple hours’ unpacking to do and at least an hour left in them. Don’t get distracted, Blaine tells himself, his eyes following the line of Kurt’s spine as he stands to take their plates to the sink. Kurt’s exposed arms are such a rare treat, so much skin…. Blaine stands, closes his eyes as he stretches. You live together now, he tells himself. You have to try to be responsible. 

Kurt presses a kiss to his forehead while his eyes are closed, and hovers there until Blaine’s eyes flutter open. Blaine can’t resist pressing a lingering kiss to Kurt’s soft mouth; then he steps back. “Bathroom box time?”

Kurt smiles.

*

They push through until only one small suitcase and Blaine’s school supplies are still packed up. Kurt sends Blaine off to shower himself clean, but ends up joining him about two minutes later, stepping gingerly into the tub behind him, murmuring how much he’s wanted Blaine all day, pressing Blaine not-so-gingerly against the wall and kissing him and kissing him and kissing him and then sliding down his soap-slick body to suck his cock until Blaine’s knees give out and he has to sit on the edge of the tub while Kurt wrings a truly spectacular orgasm out of him. Blaine tips forward against Kurt after that, lets Kurt bear his weight while he jacks Kurt off hard and slow, just like Kurt likes, water sliding down Kurt’s face now, down his throat where Blaine is sucking at his skin, sliding down to wash away the come covering Kurt’s stomach when he comes a minute later, gasping into Blaine’s mouth.

Then Kurt groans something incomprehensible about the water bill and stands them both back up to finish washing. They stumble warm and naked and achy and half-asleep from the bathroom to Kurt’s bed. Kurt pulls on his pajama pants and falls into bed face-first, while Blaine has to root through his last packed suitcase for a moment to pull out clean boxer-briefs. Soon enough, Blaine is wriggling in after him, nuzzling his way under one of Kurt’s arms, hooking his legs through Kurt’s, pushing up against him until they fit together just right and sink to sleep together. 

Two hours later, when Rachel and Santana get home from their shift at the diner, Kurt and Blaine are still passed out in Kurt’s bed. Thirty minutes after that, when the scent of vegan stir-fry is beginning to wend its way under the curtains, Rachel claps quietly outside, then sneaks past Kurt’s curtains. The boys are completely wrapped up on one another, Kurt on his back, Blaine laying half on top of him, Kurt’s arms draped loosely around Blaine’s back. As she watches, Blaine shifts, pressing his face into Kurt’s bare shoulder, breathing deeply. She glances away and clears her throat softly. 

Kurt draws in a long breath, and his eyes open to slits. “Rachel?” he rasps quietly. 

“You and Blaine fell asleep,” she whispers back; a smile tugs at Kurt’s cheeks as the warm boy in his arms registers. “And Santana and I invited Dani and Elliot over, they’re bringing dessert and wine to celebrate, and I’m making dinner for everybody. It’ll be ready in fifteen or so.”

“’Kay,” he answers, already smiling down at his fiancé. He hardly notices when she leaves, hardly notices the warm murmur of her voice and Santana’s. All he can think about is Blaine’s warm back, rising and falling under his hands, Blaine’s long, dark eyelashes, Blaine’s lush, slightly open lips. His fiancé, in his bed, in their city. Home. 

He blinks himself a little more awake and rubs his thumb in circles on Blaine’s shoulder blade. He might even hum a little “Here Comes the Sun” in Blaine’s ear. 

He can tell when Blaine comes to: the rhythm of his breathing shifts and he squeezes his whole body against Kurt’s with a low groan in an approximation of a stretch. 

“Awake now?” Kurt murmurs.

“Mmmmmm,” Blaine hums back, kissing at Kurt’s collarbone. “No.” 

Still Kurt’s thumb continues in endless little circles, around and around on Blaine’s shoulder. 

“The girls are home,” he says softly. “Rachel’s making dinner. Smells like vegetables.” 

Blaine sighs heavily.

“You don’t like stir fry?” Kurt asks, eyebrows scrunching together. 

“I’m happy,” Blaine mumbles. “Happy sigh.” His whole body seems to tighten around Kurt again. It’s like a hug. 

Kurt glances down to see Blaine grinning against his chest, his eyes still closed. 

Kurt beams. “Never leave,” he whispers.

Blaine’s eyes open just a sliver. He fishes one of his own hands out from under his own torso, then tugs Kurt’s left hand down to him. He kisses Kurt’s ring finger, then the center of his palm. “I won’t,” he says. 

Kurt holds his head up for just a moment, guiding Blaine’s chin up so that he can kiss Blaine’s forehead. Then Kurt settles his arm back around Blaine, a deep contentment settling warm and loose in his chest. 

“All right, it’s time to venture into the lair of the beast with two backs,” comes Santana’s voice from the other side of the apartment. “I swear, Lady Hummel, if Gelhead has introduced the puppets to your sex life, I—”

She’s given them plenty of warning, so by the time Santana yanks aside their curtain, they’re halfway to sitting up in bed, still shirtless but mostly coherent, and definitely not having sex. Definitely not having sex with the puppets. 

“Dinnertime already, Santana?” Kurt replies calmly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with one hand and scratching at the back of Blaine’s neck absently with the other. 

She whistles low, nodding toward Blaine in approval. “Damn, he really took it out of you, huh? Always told you all you needed was a good fuck to chill you out.” 

“We’ll be dressed and at the table in a minute, Santana,” Blaine murmurs, leaning back against Kurt’s scratching like a cat. 

She scoffs, but her eyes are soft. “Damn lovebirds,” she mutters as she exits Kurt’s area, leaving the curtains open behind her. They both hear the loft door screech open, the ruckus of Dani and Elliot arriving in good spirits. 

“Ready to face the chorus?” Kurt asks, pressing one last kiss to Blaine’s shoulder. 

“With you?” Blaine twists in the blankets to capture Kurt’s lips once, twice, three times a little deeper before they both reluctantly draw back. “Yes. I’m ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really owe a lot of fandom folks thank yous for being such forces of positivity in my life. But for the time being, I’m writing the wonderful [Gigi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gigi42/pseuds/gigi42) and [Jamie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/likeasouffle/pseuds/likeasouffle) little thank you fics for being lovely people and helping me so very much. This is Gigi’s. <3


End file.
